dig up the bones
a/n: a) i've never written solely infinite before. b) this is a mess. c) some attempted hannibal/princess mononoke crossover au but see b. d) i will probably not try to write solely infinite again for quite a while because of point b.
dig up the bones
906w; r (myungsoo/woohyun)
the boy would run with the wolves.
The darkness purges itself of the rust and bones - demon offspring regurgitating the flesh of lost men and terrified soldiers into the clearing beside the village, the iron blood of their marrow and veins between their teeth. They carry the souls across their backs - black, severed, selfish things - to the heart of the woods, where it waits upon its next meal.
The heart of the woods has no heart, the village soothsayer once told him. And he doesn’t, Myungsoo decides, staring at his back in the moonlight. The patterns of ancient gods adorn the silvery skin in mud, flowers sprouting where his fingertips lay. The face, voice, body, skin of a human - almost convincingly mortal. Eyes black, demonic, almost, until you remember he’s no human. Soul black, demonic, Myungsoo can’t deny that at all.
People, Myungsoo forgets - no, things - without hearts cannot love at all, cannot feel that twisting in their chest, cannot feel.
His love comes in four limbs, standing on two, the remaining two arms. He wears disasters like animal skins, dirt like eyeliner - weeds sprouting from the lids. The earth on his cheeks like war paint, life and death a relentless struggle for the one who rules both. His heart the ground they trek upon, his skin the trees they try to burn down. His lungs breathe the poisonous curse laced through roots - death to all those who try to stake their claim. No spirits of ghouls, beasts, or ancient gods would dare pick the flesh off the bones. Iron blood threads rivers and streams and sap in trees, souls the spirits of the them - all those unwelcome succumb to the darkness and her children.
He took Myungsoo in on his verge of death, carmine camouflaging the deep slit beneath the ribs, the earth bloodied, the roots wanting more. The woods drank him in - carnivorous, thirsty, the darkness disoriented by the scent. He sunk into the dirt, eyelids fluttering, lungs sputtering with the weight. Caught him then, footprints distinct with the flowers that grew beneath his toes - something ironically benevolent compared to the lives he took. He looked him in the eye, black and demonic and terrifyingly inhuman, the ghost of his heart glaring between his teeth. Spat that out, the soul too, useless in the syrupy earth of the forest - unyielding in the land of spirits.
That, in some twisted, twisted way, is a second-chance, Myungsoo would like to think.
The gods of the forest are no saviors, he learns, days full of walking through winding trunks, hanged souls of dead bodies - spirits of the trees. At midnight, he will take Myungsoo back, new souls and blacker eyes, fuck him until he’s senseless - hardly selfless. No orgasm even as Myungsoo climaxes: nothing. He feels nothing, the gods feel nothing - unbiased harbingers of life and death, protectors of the wood. Nothing more, the swallowed souls that seep into the hallowed ground merely foreign, their stories of pain and suffering unheard - inhuman despite the humans that whisper through the grating of wind across bark, soulless despite the darkness and her offerings. Ironic despite nothing, nothing at all.
(but gods live off humans, need humans to live. need fear, lust, hate, awe to guard their grounds, to exist, to be remembered. for what is darkness when she no longer has area to roam, for what is a god to those who have forgotten him? black, demonic - myungsoo can’t deny that at all. need, he can’t deny that in his numbered days either.)
A second chance at what exactly, Myungsoo would like to ask.
The gods of the forest are no wolves, he learns when he tries to follow him out. The snapping teeth, howling to the moon may be better than this, he decides.
No boy can run with the wolves. No boy can run with the darkness, her offspring, or him himself, life and death.
(myungsoo is no god, no ghoul, no beast, no tree spirit. he is flesh, bone, veins, heart, and soul - intact and all - in the belly of a monster, in the eye of a storm.)
One day, you will die. Black, demonic eyes keep his as he thrusts in, out, in, out, in.
One day, you will die, and your flesh will rot, stink, your bones will seep into the ground. Your people will dig them up and not know that they are yours - lost boy, only twenty-two. Myungsoo’s breaths quicken, more, more, more. Nothing.
One day, you will die by my hands, my fingers taking the life from your ribs, from your heart, your soul. Your blood will go to the trees, your heart to the beasts and the ghouls.
Your soul to me.
Myungsoo has never forgotten.
(he would die when his love ran out, when he no longer climaxed, when he no longer believed in his second chance. he would die and he would sink him into the soft underbelly of the woods - flesh, bones, fingernails, and all. a tree would sprout, tree without a spirit, without a hanged soul, dead body upon its branches.
he would swallow his soul.)
(and maybe then he would finally hear - stories of pain, suffering. stories of love, sacrifice, a life at your disposal, you took this life, you took this life from his bones, from his flesh, from his heart - you killed him, you killed them all -
and see the tragedy in it.)
The boy would run with the wolves.
dig up the bones
906w; r (myungsoo/woohyun)
the boy would run with the wolves.
The darkness purges itself of the rust and bones - demon offspring regurgitating the flesh of lost men and terrified soldiers into the clearing beside the village, the iron blood of their marrow and veins between their teeth. They carry the souls across their backs - black, severed, selfish things - to the heart of the woods, where it waits upon its next meal.
The heart of the woods has no heart, the village soothsayer once told him. And he doesn’t, Myungsoo decides, staring at his back in the moonlight. The patterns of ancient gods adorn the silvery skin in mud, flowers sprouting where his fingertips lay. The face, voice, body, skin of a human - almost convincingly mortal. Eyes black, demonic, almost, until you remember he’s no human. Soul black, demonic, Myungsoo can’t deny that at all.
People, Myungsoo forgets - no, things - without hearts cannot love at all, cannot feel that twisting in their chest, cannot feel.
His love comes in four limbs, standing on two, the remaining two arms. He wears disasters like animal skins, dirt like eyeliner - weeds sprouting from the lids. The earth on his cheeks like war paint, life and death a relentless struggle for the one who rules both. His heart the ground they trek upon, his skin the trees they try to burn down. His lungs breathe the poisonous curse laced through roots - death to all those who try to stake their claim. No spirits of ghouls, beasts, or ancient gods would dare pick the flesh off the bones. Iron blood threads rivers and streams and sap in trees, souls the spirits of the them - all those unwelcome succumb to the darkness and her children.
He took Myungsoo in on his verge of death, carmine camouflaging the deep slit beneath the ribs, the earth bloodied, the roots wanting more. The woods drank him in - carnivorous, thirsty, the darkness disoriented by the scent. He sunk into the dirt, eyelids fluttering, lungs sputtering with the weight. Caught him then, footprints distinct with the flowers that grew beneath his toes - something ironically benevolent compared to the lives he took. He looked him in the eye, black and demonic and terrifyingly inhuman, the ghost of his heart glaring between his teeth. Spat that out, the soul too, useless in the syrupy earth of the forest - unyielding in the land of spirits.
That, in some twisted, twisted way, is a second-chance, Myungsoo would like to think.
The gods of the forest are no saviors, he learns, days full of walking through winding trunks, hanged souls of dead bodies - spirits of the trees. At midnight, he will take Myungsoo back, new souls and blacker eyes, fuck him until he’s senseless - hardly selfless. No orgasm even as Myungsoo climaxes: nothing. He feels nothing, the gods feel nothing - unbiased harbingers of life and death, protectors of the wood. Nothing more, the swallowed souls that seep into the hallowed ground merely foreign, their stories of pain and suffering unheard - inhuman despite the humans that whisper through the grating of wind across bark, soulless despite the darkness and her offerings. Ironic despite nothing, nothing at all.
(but gods live off humans, need humans to live. need fear, lust, hate, awe to guard their grounds, to exist, to be remembered. for what is darkness when she no longer has area to roam, for what is a god to those who have forgotten him? black, demonic - myungsoo can’t deny that at all. need, he can’t deny that in his numbered days either.)
A second chance at what exactly, Myungsoo would like to ask.
The gods of the forest are no wolves, he learns when he tries to follow him out. The snapping teeth, howling to the moon may be better than this, he decides.
No boy can run with the wolves. No boy can run with the darkness, her offspring, or him himself, life and death.
(myungsoo is no god, no ghoul, no beast, no tree spirit. he is flesh, bone, veins, heart, and soul - intact and all - in the belly of a monster, in the eye of a storm.)
One day, you will die. Black, demonic eyes keep his as he thrusts in, out, in, out, in.
One day, you will die, and your flesh will rot, stink, your bones will seep into the ground. Your people will dig them up and not know that they are yours - lost boy, only twenty-two. Myungsoo’s breaths quicken, more, more, more. Nothing.
One day, you will die by my hands, my fingers taking the life from your ribs, from your heart, your soul. Your blood will go to the trees, your heart to the beasts and the ghouls.
Your soul to me.
Myungsoo has never forgotten.
(he would die when his love ran out, when he no longer climaxed, when he no longer believed in his second chance. he would die and he would sink him into the soft underbelly of the woods - flesh, bones, fingernails, and all. a tree would sprout, tree without a spirit, without a hanged soul, dead body upon its branches.
he would swallow his soul.)
(and maybe then he would finally hear - stories of pain, suffering. stories of love, sacrifice, a life at your disposal, you took this life, you took this life from his bones, from his flesh, from his heart - you killed him, you killed them all -
and see the tragedy in it.)
The boy would run with the wolves.